Viking War Tales
by GameofThrawns
Summary: We've got fluffy one-shots, smutty one-shots, funny one-shots, and everything in between. But what about violent ones? Random, largely non-connected HTTYD one-shots that pop in my (or someone else's) head involving known characters kicking ass. From barfights to murder sprees to army battles, anything goes. Any and all prompt suggestions and criticism welcome.
1. Why We Fight

_**Why We Fight**_

 _Premise:_ _A marauding warband of Berserkers have captured Hiccup, but then they made the mistake of capturing Astrid, too. A look inside Astrid's mind as she stabs dumb bad guys with knives_. _Canon-verse_

* * *

The Berserkers didn't bother with metal chains or cuffs for Astrid. No, they thought binding her hands with some rope and putting her behind some metal bars in a cave would be enough for "this little wench". That upset Astrid. It upset her a lot.

She could maybe understand their thought process, though. She was actually a bit slimmer and lighter than her raw strength would suggest, and even then, she sadly had to concede that some of the men of her age on Berk had her beat. It was unfair, really, for none of them trained as hard as she did.

Instead, the gods had gifted her with levels of speed and agility that left her opponents reeling in confusion. She also had excellent senses in general, night vision being quite a relevant one now. Oh, and no one save for Chief Stoick himself even came close to her in fighting skill, but that was mostly through her own hard work.

And this was why when a large Berserker guard entered her cell with a sick grin on his face, threatening her with one of _her_ own knives, she was able to snap kick him twice—once in the groin, once in the head—before he could even really comprehend what was happening

But strength-wise, she was still a Viking from Berk, and _that_ was why her second kick killed the man instantly, forcing his head back with a sickening _snap_.

 _One_.

If the guard standing just outside the cell had any brains or respect for what Astrid just did, she would've run off screaming for back-up. But no, she thought she could handle the "little wench". Astrid's hands were free by the time she'd taken a step inside, and two steps later, the poor woman was choking on a well-thrown knife to the throat.

 _Two_. Astrid took pride in her excellent throwing technique, but she was still quite miffed about being underestimated by her captors. _She_ wasn't the one who got captured first. _Hiccup_ just had to—

 _Shit_ , where was that idiot?

She smoothly slit the throat of a guard who'd apparently taken quite a liking to her second knife, among other personal posessions. _Three_ , she counted as she strapped some of her gear back on her.

Perhaps she was being too hard on Hiccup. _Four_. Whoever planned the ambush clearly knew what they were doing: waiting for them to land and get off their dragons, dipping their arrows with dragon root to quickly incapacitate their dragons— _five and six_ —ganging up on poor Hiccup and taking him hostage first because she obviously would've kicked all their asses if they didn't...okay, maybe one-on-forty was a bit too much, even for the mighty Astrid Hofferson.

There was no moon tonight, so she managed to sneak up on—well, more like walk up to—two Berserkers who were still in the process of lighting a torch and gutted the larger one right in the heart while holding a knife under the other's chin. _Seven_.

"My friend," she growled as the and the man—boy, really—reluctantly dropped his crossbow. He gulped slowly, trying to suppress his fear.

"Wh-who what?" He wasn't doing a very good job at it.

Astrid leaned in, letting her knife draw a bit of blood. "Tall, peg leg, annoying voice? Tell me where he is before I get bored."

"Oh, uh, in that...that hut over there, on the hill" he squeaked. "He's, uh, he's fine, we didn't hurt him too much, I mean, at all, we, uh..."

Astrid's eyes flicked to where he was pointing, and the boy misinterpreted it as a chance to turn the tables. A deadly mistake.

"Eight," she muttered as the boy's mouth stopped moving and his eyes lost focus. _Just numbers_ , she reminded herself. But still, she regretted killing him, mostly because he probably knew where the dragons were too. If they'd taken even a single scale off Stormfly...

 _What do they even want with us?_ Astrid wondered with something a little heavier than annoyance as she prowled up the hill. She'd actually been willing to play as a weak, helpless captive for just a bit longer to learn what they wanted from Hiccup and her, but she saw her chance when she noticed most of the Berserkers had left for some other mission. And then that guard came in and, well, she wasn't _that_ willing.

She was so engrossed with this question as she marched up the hill that it was only with the narrowest of margins that she managed to sidestep a Berserker swinging a large, double-headed axe at her from her right. He nicked her in the right arm, instead, and she rolled back on to her feet, putting just a bit of distance between her and the weapon.

" _YOU_ KILLED THEM!" he roared. Wait, was that...

"That's my axe!" she shouted back.

"THEY'RE ALL DEAD." He sounded...quite broken up about it. "They're all fucking dead because of you, you bitch. My brothers..."

Astrid didn't care, really. Couldn't. No time. "Give me back my axe," she said, "and I might even let you live."

Well, he obliged, throwing it straight at her with deadly intent. She instinctively dodged it, and it lodged into a tree right behind her with a loud _thunk_. She drew both her knives just in time to deflect the large dagger that was suddenly in the man's meaty hands.

Judging by the power of his swings, he was definitely stronger, and was _just_ fast and skilled enough to keep up, so she didn't want to get too close, especially if it resulted in grappling on the ground. She danced around him, deflecting and dodging his lunges, searching for an opening, until... _ah, there it is_. A subtle look of surprise crossed his face as he stepped on a tree root hidden by the soil, and that was all Astrid needed to kick his see to weave her way in, twisting the knife in her left hand into the flesh and muscle and bone of his right shoulder; she'd been aiming for a fatal blow to the vital point in his armpit, but it was good enough that he dropped his dagger.

At the same time, he caught her stomach with a left hook that sent her reeling to the ground, but she pulled him in with her, still ruthlessly twisting her knife as he howled in pain. Pressing her advantage, somehow getting in a few more savage slashes across his chest and legs as they rolled down the hill, she managed to place herself above this beast of a man and keep him pinned, giving the knife one more twist—he called her a "shit-eating halftroll" for that one—before using both hands to force her other knife towards his neck, her two arms gradually overpowering his admittedly very strong left one. She leaned in closer to better push down the blade and speed up the process. She saw tears; good, he was cracking.

He was screaming some semi-coherent words about revenge and whores and death, legs thrashing but unable to reach back far enough, but she wasn't really listening, instead worrying about Hiccup and the dragons. And then he was begging, pleading about...something, but she didn't stop there either.

"Tell me where the dragons are."

"No, I don't know, please."

"Sure you do."

"Stop...please sto–" But the knife went in anyway, robbing him of his ability to breathe. _Nine_. She didn't wait for him to die as she pulled out her knives from the body and her axe from the tree, and ran up the hill.

Astrid only saw two other people in the hut when she entered: a slightly blue-faced Hiccup—Astrid immediately noticed the metal cuffs around his hands and fumed—flopping his one and a half legs like a dead fish on the ground, and a bleeding Berserker she instantly knew to be lucky number ten, who was sitting on the ground, chin over Hiccup's head, arm wrapped around her boyfriend in a chokehold. Other than that, there was a table off to one side with a lamp and some parchment, a pile of furs for a bed, and shattered wooden fragments of a chair.

But by the time either of them saw _her_ , the Berserker's head was already in the process of being split open by an axe. There was less resistance than she'd expected, and her heart skipped a terrifying beat as she stopped her axe just over Hiccup's head. _Ten_.

He looked up at her with an expression of pure terror. She froze as well, suddenly aware of the blood on her axe, her knives, her hands, her...well, everything.

"Um, hey Astrid," he finally said between uneven breaths. "You...you're looking good."

Astrid nodded absent-mindedly. She found a key on the table and helped free his hands from the cuffs.

"Not that I really _enjoy_ seeing you chop people's heads in half or anything." Hiccup shuddered as he flicked brain bits off his hair. "Or be covered in blood. Or nearly kill me..."

Astrid found his metal leg tossed to one corner and handed it to him. "It's kind of your fault, you know? You sharpened my axe this morning without telling me, didn't you?"

"Maybe..." He gave a crooked smile, and Astrid had to fight her urge to kiss him and take him right then and there. Wall, table, furs, in that order. _Later_ , _when we're safe on Berk_ , she had to remind herself. The rush of battle did funny things to people's heads.

A sudden, terrifying realization crossed her mind. She angrily punched Hiccup the moment he got on his feet, and he doubled over with a loud "Owwww."

"What were _you_ doing?" she asked accusingly. "Stop trying to get yourself killed! If I hadn't gotten here in time—"

"We heard fighting outside." He groaned. "I figured that it was you coming to save me. So I tried to help by keeping this guy here. I wanted to make sure you weren't outnumbered, a-and in my defense I did accomplish that, but...you know." He waved awkwardly to himself as he strapped his silly flaming sword device on to his belt. "Hands cuffed, missing a leg, toothpick arms...you can figure out the rest. Seriously, what are these guys made out of? I broke a chair over him, and it just makes him mad. I don't get how that's even...what?"

Astrid just shook her head. "You don't have to die for me Hiccup."

"Thank you for giving me your permission, milady, I really appreciate it." And there it was again, that dorky smile of his that melted her heart, that way his eyes fixed its gaze upon her and lit up in awe and joy and relief. It was then that Astrid remembered that she'd be willing to fight and slay ten or twenty or a thousand Berserkers for him; Hel, she'd declare a one-woman war on the entire world if it meant keeping her best friend safe and happy. And now she knew for sure that Hiccup would do the same for her.

But really, it'd be stupid for him to die so she could live, because if he even dared, she was going to hunt him down with an axe all the way to Valhalla. So just for good measure, and for giving her sass, she punched him again—in the same spot, too, to make sure he remembered. She'd make it up to him later anyway.

* * *

 **A/N:** First story, so I tried to cover all the important bases: some slight, perhaps rather dark humor (at least, I hope it got a chuckle out of y'all), we got the violence I advertised, and of course there has to be Hiccstrid fluff to really reel people in.

I learned about the axillary artery under the armpit while researching stuff so I could come up with a sequence that very vaguely—maybe if you squint at the words hard enough—seems like a knife fight. Or a knife vs machete fight. And yes, the slow stab into the neck was ripped from that nasty scene from _Saving Private Ryan_.

This is generally how I imagine Astrid would be in an edgier/darker HTTYD. She'd be somewhat like what Kurtz from _Apocalypse Now_ would consider an ideal soldier, someone who can switch from normal, loving, moral human being to cold-hearted killing machine the moment the people or things she holds dear are in trouble. Astrid threatening to chop your fingers off while waving her axe at you is scary, but I imagine Astrid simply staring at you with dead eyes and a wooden stake she'd just sharpened pointed at you would be straight-up horror movie slasher stuff. Doesn't matter if it's a guy's last day on the job or a girl who's about to get married or a generally good Samaritan who's struggling to keep his family from starving, if you're some underling who's blocking her on her quest to save Hiccup and company, and you don't get the fuck out of the way before she reaches you, she's going to crack open your skull with her bare hands and not shed a single tear of regret about it for the rest of her life because Hiccup is all she's thinking about when she does it.

Ah, Viking love.


	2. Cold Comfort, Part I

**Cold Comfort: Part 1**

 _Premise:_ _In the week leading up to Snoggletog, Berk is temporarily left without its dragons and its chief. Of course, this is when its enemies choose to strike, and Snotlout Jorgensen soon finds himself caught in a cruel battle against invaders, only to slowly realize the true depravity of man that is exposed when extreme—Okay, look, the point is, war sucks. Don't do it. Make love, not war, all that good stuff. Post-HTTYD2 speculation._

* * *

"Leave him alone, you witch!" Snotlout hissed as he shattered the perfect face—wavy blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, sharp nose—of the archer in front of him with a swing of his hammer, watching with grim satisfaction as her body briefly flew off the ground and slammed back down against ice and cobblestone a few meters away. "Yeah that's right. That's two...three for the Snotman."

There was no reply.

"Yeah...don't even think about getting up."

She didn't.

The gods, Snotlout decided, had a sick sense of humor, sending an army of fierce, butt-kicking, _single_ Viking women to invade Berk at the crack of dawn. And some of them were really, _really_ hot, like, hotter than a Deadly Nadder's fire, probably Astrid-tier. At first, Snotlout had been convinced that Snoggletog had arrived a few days early, only for his hopes to be quickly dashed as he realized the army of chicks were only here to kill, plunder, and kill some more. Tuffnut had lamented the end of civilization and the rise of the "Ruffnuttian dystopia" and "barbaric matriarchy". Snotlout had always known that Tuffnut was some sort of hidden genius, especially when it came to foreign languages; what was the word for it...polygon?

The attackers knew that most of the dragons were away on another, far-off island to mate during this time of year. They knew Chief Hiccup had gone off with them this year, to study some new breed he'd discovered, as well take a few days break for himself after bossing people around non-stop—Snotlout knew there was more to it, of course, but it was still something to make fun of Hiccup for. These slimy vixens knew all this and maybe even a bit more because Hiccup had told them all this himself. He even taught them the basics of taming and riding dragons, which was probably why the battle opened with about a dozen mounted Changewings zipping across the sky, winking in and out of sight and raining acid on sleeping Berkians' homes and defenses.

"S-Snotlout?"

Snotlout's attention snapped back to the present. Spitelout Jorgensen was curled up in the snow, an arrow in each leg, surrounded by dark red snow and fallen friends and foes. Snotlout recognized only Barknub and Gisle among the dead, their eyes blankly staring into the sky. There was a fallen Changewing, too, and as he stared at the bodies—all of them—he felt an unfamiliar uneasiness writhe inside of him.

"I'm here," he said, kneeling down to check the old man for more injuries. There was clearly blood on the furs, though how much was his own Snotlout wasn't sure. "We need to get you—"

"What are you doing here, so far away from our center line?" Spitelout asked pointedly, once again living up to his name.

"Someone came running and shouting something about enemies sneaking up the cliffs to the east and you needing reinforcements," he said with a shrug. "Astrid was bossing around the west flank, and no on else seemed to hear him, and Tuffnut said he'd cover for me, so I figured, 'Ah, why the Hel not?'"

" _This shit's all fucked, always fucked, anyways, so like, whatever,"_ Tuffnut had said with a smile and a shrug. Snotlout chuckled. Leave it to Tuff to be so nonchalant about the potential end of Berk.

"Sven, that spineless—" Spitelout suddenly clenched his teeth in both pain and anger, the visible puffs of his breath seeming almost like boiling steam. "For once in your life, son, can you just _listen_ to orders?"

Snotlout resisted the urge to pull an arrow out, just to see the man howl. "You're welcome for saving your life, Dad."

"I had her right where I wanted her," Spitelout growled. A blatant lie, perhaps to ease Snotlout's worry, but probably more to preserve his father's ego. "I need no protection. Berk does. Now get back out there, and show those whores what a Jorgensen can do."

"Once I make sure you don't freeze to death." He really owed Tuffnut big time on this one. Not that he'd ever actually repay him.

Snotlout somehow pick his father up without too much trouble, and Spitelout was too weak to really fight back. Still, it was times like these that made Snotlout really miss Hookfang, and he reminded himself to feed him extra tuna when he came back from his little vacation. "Oh gods, you're heavy. Really should consider a diet, dad. Chief was right all along."

"Hiccup...heh...a foolish...mistake..."

Snotlout had to agree with his father on that one. How could his cousin have been so stupid as to trust an island of bloodthirsty shieldmaiden mercenaries who called themselves "Bog Burglars"? Of course, he probably thought that he could win them over as allies against Drago Bludvist's forces with a bit of gold and some lessons on the wonders of dragon friendship, but judging by the cannons and other advanced siege weapons he saw them wheeling in on the beaches, they apparently decided Drago had better gifts. Either that, or they'd played both sides for their own gain.

Snotlout nearly threw himself and his father into the snow when he hard the flapping of dragon wings but calmed himself when he turned around and saw that it was just Toothless, with Astrid riding on his back.

Toothless never bothered following the other dragons to the Rookery, as female Night Furies didn't seem to exist, at least around this part of the world, and his artificial tailfin prevented him from flying without Hiccup's aid. This year, Hiccup had decided to force the dragon to take a break of his own from the role as Alpha. The Bog Burglars clearly hadn't factored in Toothless's presence, and while Astrid couldn't fly Toothless as well as Hiccup could, she was familiar enough with an older tailfin model that the skies were now mostly cleared of Changewing riders.

The landing was a little sloppy, but neither dragon nor rider seemed to be in any mood to give a damn. Astrid hopped off Toothless casually, and as she approached Snotlout he could see that her blue eyes were...cold. Colder than the worst winters Snotlout had ever experienced.

"Any survivors?" she asked, pulling her hood down despite the biting cold, scanning the bloodbath with an unnervingly calm expression.

"Just my dad," Snotlout said with a strange sense of pride that his father was the last man standing, immediately followed by a bit of guilt that he'd think such thoughts.

"Put him on Toothless," she ordered, and Snotlout obeyed. As he eased his father on to some strange second saddle—Hiccup must've designed it specifically to ferry a wounded passenger—the older Jorgensen grabbed his arm firmly.

"Don't...don't...d–" He paused. "D-don't disappoint me...son."

Snotlout couldn't help but smile and nod before pulling away. The words were harsh, but his dad couldn't hide the genuine worry from his eyes.

"There's a bit of a lull in the battle," Astrid said. "I'm having the center fall back to the third line. Eret's leading some men over here to hold this flank."

Snotlout's heart dropped. "Seriously? That bad? Your daughter—"

"Don't worry about Eira," Astrid said a bit too harshly. "She's safe with Valka and Gothi and the others. And on the contrary, we've pretty much won."

Now he furrowed his brows in confusion. "Uhh, what?"

"You know, for all their fearsome reputation," Astrid said sardonically, "they really have no idea how to use those toys Drago gave them. At least half their cannons don't seem to be working, and those that are firing hit their forces as often as they hit near ours.

Snotlout nodded, still very confused. "And the Changewings seemed to have learned who's boss. Did Toothless go full Alpha on them?"

"No, Toothless doesn't seem to be the mind-controlling type," Astrid said, flipping her blonde plait over her shoulder as if she wasn't leading an army at the moment. "Especially after...or maybe he just can't. But he's fought Changewings too many times to be fooled by their camouflage gimmick, so it was easy bringing them down."

"Hiccup won't like that."

"Changewings can take a plasma blast. Their riders, not so much." Her smile was tight-lipped. "One of them was their leader. That's why there's a lull."

And now Snotlout was even more confused. "Wait, you killed Bertha the Big?" he asked incredulously. "Then why not press the attack now?"

"Because then they'd just get on their boats and sail away, and because they've burned all of ours we won't be able to stop them." The smile disappeared all together. Toothless approached from behind her, and while the tone of his warbles revealed nothing to Snotlout, he figured it probably had something to do with whatever scary storm of emotion was raging behind her impassive face. "They've got too much faith in their individual skill. With Bertha gone, we've already won. Now we just need to lure them into digging their own graves deeper, make sure that this is our _last_ battle with them. Total victory over these traitors would be a nice Snoggletog present for Hiccup."

"But...hmm..."

"Gods!" Eret shouted as he arrived, surveying the carnage. The three warriors marching close behind him mumbled in agreement. "What happened here?"

 _Total victory_. It was a solid plan. The Bog Burglars didn't deserve to just go slink home back to their island without repercussions. So why was he feeling so uncomfortable with it?

Astrid just gave him a nod and climbed back on to Toothless before turning back to Snotlout. "I should get back to flying. The center's already shifting back and setting up the catapults and ballistae with Gobber and Fishlegs. Ack and Phlegma are entrenched in the west. Ruffnut's leading a stealth team to burn the ships. Some of them will end up running here, where you and Er–"

"Wait, wait, back up. Ruffnut's doing _what_?"

"Just to make sure none of them can escape. It was Ruff's idea."

And now Snotlout was confused again, as well as slightly terrified. He cared for Ruffnut, more so than he really liked to admit, not just because he found her attractive, but also because she was actually...a good and dear friend.

"But that's, like, suicide!" he finally blurted out. "Like, why does she even have to...why would...and Tuffnut..."

Everyone else was staring at him, not with any sort of shock or apprehension but sadness and sympathy. Or in Astrid's case, inhuman fury.

 _No_.

No, nononononono, nope, nope, nope.

Astrid flipped her hood back on, covering her eyes. "I hope they don't surrender," she growled. She hastily checked Spitelout's harnesses before rocketing back into the air with Toothless.

No. Tuffnut was too clever for this kind of shit. Swords and arrows? Child's play compared to the dangers Tuff purposely threw himself into on a near-daily basis. Changewings? Tuff had wrestled with those before. Snotlout had long ago been convinced that the Thorston twins were actually somehow blessed by Loki, gifted the ability to do dangerous and stupid things without suffering any long-term repercussions so long as it was in the name of shits and giggles and explosions. And Tuffnut was also carrying Macey the Second, his lucky gronkle iron mace. No way. Macey would've protected him.

One of the older warriors—Brinehilt, or something—placed a gentle hand on Snotlout's shoulder. "Snotlout," she whispered gently. "We—"

"Not yet," Snotlout said. Part of his mind had already moved on, skipping over all the emotions and keeping his face locked down in a grim expression, urging him to get his ass moving because there was a gods-damned battle still going on.

But no, no, he couldn't. He couldn't be dead because he was Fishlegs' annoyance, and Hiccup's fashion advisor, and Astrid's crazy tactics and ideas guy, and Snotlout's best drinking and fighting and hanging-out-by-bullying-Fishlegs buddy, and Ruffnut...the two couldn't live without each other.

So that was why Ruffnut wanted to do this. Snotlout's blood boiled at the thought of it. He hated Ruffnut. Why the fuck was she so obsessed with her twin, anyways? To the point that she was going to run off to Valhalla with him? He hated those Bog Burglar whores even more; he was going to slam the head of every Bog Burglar he saw into red and pink paste with his hammer, even if they some of them were really pretty and young...young...Snotlout looked at some of the bodies of the Bog Burglars and realized that one of them was probably not even, like, fifteen. True, he was riding a Monstrous Nightmare to battle by the time he was fifteen or sixteen, but that was, like, different...somehow. Maybe?

And most of all, he hated himself because, well, it was his fault. If only he'd just stayed and...let his father die? Honestly, he liked Tuffnut better than his dad, but still...that would've sucked too, and he'd be stuck with these same feelings. It was lose-lose.

" _This shit's all fucked, always fucked, anyways, so like, whatever."_

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Snotlout quickly wiped the moisture from his eyes before it became tears. He focused on his hammer instead, swinging it a few times, the weight of it making him grin.

"You ready to smash some Bog skulls, Eret?" he 'd always somewhat looked forward to the thrill of battle, but now, he just wantedd to get away from all this _peace_.

* * *

 **A/N:** I see other writers do this; I'm guessing it means "Author's Notes". I'll edit one in for my previous chapter.

There's a lot to say about this one. I'd love to claim that it's a two-parter for a particularly awesome reason, but honestly I just feel like snipping it in half for length. Never expected to have to do this for a Snotlout-centered story. I admit there's almost no _actual_ fighting in this chapter, just a lot of talk about it. But I'm just going to say that counts because it's my fic, and there's a Part 2. Also, it's umm, uhh, realistic! Because war is a lot of boring with sharp moments of intenseness. I obviously know this for sure because I watched _Jarhead_ once, which I think was about something like that.

The Bog Burglars of this story of course are not very much alike the Bog Burglars of the HTTYD books because I never read them. Instead, they're a mish-mash of ideas I've had for a long time. It started with "villain Amazons", inspired by the Daughters of Aku from the latest seasons of Samurai Jack. Then I fleshed it out into "disloyal shieldmaiden Amazon mercenaries working backstabbing Berk for Drago". Them riding Changewings was me shamelessly stealing from midoriko-sama's fanfic "Becoming Lífþrasir".

The original story was both more light-hearted and more desperate, with the Bog Burglars having the upper hand. But then an idea of subverting the trope of "badass all-warrior culture beats everyone through sheer warrior skillz" popped in my head, and I just had to change it. So the Bog Burglars' nasty surprise archer/ninja invasion is already fizzling by the story's start; they're all demigoddess supersoldiers, but Berk has the defensive advantage (high ground memes galore) and is defended by a well-organized fighting force with superior knowledge/tech in siege warfare, all under the command of a ruthlessly efficient General Hofferson (riding on Toothless, because that's badass). And of course, without the high stakes of "Will the Bogs win?" my deranged mind is turning this into a "horrors of humanity/war" story, Tuffnut's quote summing the mood up quite well. Probably just Roy Scranton's very grim novel _War Porn_ still bouncing in my mind.


	3. Cold Comfort, Part II

_**Cold Comfort, Part II**_

 _Premise: Snotlout's day goes from bad to worse, in a way that he'd probably find funny if it wasn't happening to him._

* * *

This calm. This _peace_. It was driving Snotlout mad.

It'd been an hour or so since he'd spoken with Astrid about her plan to crush the Bog Burglars, yet nothing much had happened since then. As if those bitches weren't enough, a fierce snowstorm had also decided that today was a good day to invade Berk.

So Snotlout and two of his fellow warriors, a man named Murkskin and a girl, had been forced indoors, any attempts to communicate with even the warriors next door impeded by a cold, white, howling wall of wind and snow.

 _Tuffnut is dead_. He didn't want to believe it. Or think about it. So he didn't.

He felt cold. Stupid blizzard. He shifted closer to the firepit, rubbing his hands together in vain. Still cold.

He wondered how his father was doing. Or Astrid.

He clenched his teeth together to prevent them from chattering as he shifted even closer to the pit, placing his hands near the flame. Yet...nothing.

How was Eret holding up? Probably slowly freezing to death like everyone else.

He focused on Murkskin, who was flicking something off the shaft of his spear. The boy looked at Snotlout and gave a slight nod. "Should I go check outside again, Snotlout?" he asked. "See if the storm's let up a bit?"

"Yeah, sure," Snotlout said.

Murkskin was an older man. Large, too, eerily similar to Stoick the Vast: big muscles, much of his buried in red hair, fierce eyes of some color Snotlout couldn't bother to remember.

"Okay." Murkskin stood up and headed to the door.

Where was Fishlegs right now? What was he doing?

Or Ruffnut. How was Ruffnut's little boat-burning mission going?

Why was it so fucking cold?

"What's your name again?" he asked the woman.

She looked up at him and smiled. She seemed just a few years below his age. Blonde hair, blue eyes, much like Tuffnut. Or Astrid. Or that last Bog Burglar he killed.

Perhaps that's what he needed. Just some conversation with a pretty lady. Without another guy in the room, preferably.

"Brinemold," she said. "Brinemold Thorway."

No, this wasn't enough. He needed something to break with his hammer. Some _one_ to break.

But it was something, at least.

"Snotlout Jorgenson," he said with a chuckle. "As you probably know."

Murkskin pulled the door open, a burst of cold air and some snowflakes immediately flooding the room as it creaked. Snow crunched as he took a step outside.

She laughed, though not in the friendliest way. "Yes, you have quite the reputation."

"Obviously."

"A warrior of extraordinary strength, skill, and courage, and most importantly, cousin and close friend of the Chief."

"Yeah." Then it hit him. "Wait, 'most importantly'?"

"Because I have also heard that you are an arrogant, impulsive, lustful braggart. That you are a disappointment to even your own father, and that your friendship with the Chief shields you from further shame. That you are only worthy of following in battle, and outside of that, you're just a bad joke."

Snotlout gritted his teeth. "Astrid Hofferson's advice?"

"I don't remember. Maybe it was Shieldmaiden Hofferson...maybe Spitelout."

He opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but it was then that Murkskin stumbled back into the house and fell backwards, an arrow having caught him straight through his open mouth.

As Snotlout leapt to his feet and snatched up his hammer, he couldn't help but think, _Finally_.

* * *

Snotlout couldn't remember exactly what had happened between Murkskin eating an arrow and now aside from a few things—running through the blizzard, bones cracking under the weight of his hammer. But seeing as how he was in an unfamiliar house, bleeding from multiple cuts across his body, and pinned to the floor by a rather small Bog Burglar as she tried to strangle him with just her bare hands, things probably hadn't gone well. Astrid was going to be pissed, for sure...right? What was the plan again?

But he had to focus on the here and now. One step at a time: Kill this girl, find Eret...

He managed to throw the girl's weight off him, sending her straight into a wall. Still trying to catch his breath, he scrambled for his hammer. But his opponent was somehow quicker on the recovery and was already facing him with her shield and flail both back in her possession. They were back exactly where they started.

Her raven black armor was splattered by streaks of blood, as was her short, cropped black hair, and her breathing was heavy, yet she was grinning, as if this were just a sparring session.

"You're, uh, persistent," he said, not quite knowing why he said anything at all. He enjoyed talking during the middle of deadly combat, but usually to those fighting _with_ him, while riding dragons and blasting enemies below. Not...this.

"You killed my sister," she said, though she certainly didn't seem very broken up about it. "And you know, we're fighting a war here. Don't I _have_ to kill you?"

Snotlout glanced over at the massive mound of dead muscle in the corner that had slain three Berkian warriors with two swipes of a war club. To be completely honest with himself, he'd only managed to take her out by sneaking up behind her and bringing down his hammer on her skull. Multiple times.

"I see the family resemblance," he replied.

"Well, _she's_ not my sister. onestly never got along with that one. One time, I tried slipping eels in her—"

Then she charged him shield-first, forcing Snotlout to instinctively sidestep to the right. She followed with a wide swing of her flail, but he managed to parry its head with his hammer. There was a flicker of fear in the girl's face, he noted with some pride, when she saw how easily he was able to wield his weapon with just one hand.

"Sneaky," he said, swinging his hammer gamely, "but nothing new. Seen it, done it." It was one of the many dirty tricks he and Tuffnut had invented to gain a cheap advantage in sparring; even Astrid had fallen for it once.

"I don't think many of them liked me," she continued nonchalantly. It was like she was unaware that they were trying to kill each other. "Never fit in too well with them."

"Uh-huh."

She tried charging again, only to jump back as he preemptively swung his hammer. "See, if you were a girl, you'd fit in great with them."

"What?"

"Yeah, they're all your type. Waving around a giant hammer, obviously compensating for something."

"Seemed to fit your sister just fine," he fired back.

"Now that's just rude."

She was a near-perfect storm of speed and power, much like Astrid, and Snotlout quickly found himself straining to keep up with her movements, especially with his own blood getting in his eyes and making the handle of his hammer slippery.

"Then why are you here?" he asked, swinging and missing, as expected. He did manage to smash a chair into tiny pieces, though.

"Because I have to. We're all trapped in this."

"Well, I'm here because I want to." He smashed a table trying to hit her. "I'm my own Viking."

"No you're not. You've spent your whole life seeking the approval of your bitter, egotistical father."

That made Snotlout pause for a moment. "How—"

"My sister was...the same," the girl said, attempting and utterly failing to trip him with a fancy leg move. "I mean my real sister. And now she's out there in the snow, her head bashed in by a giant hammer."

Snotlout's eyes slightly widened, noticing her blue eyes, and he was struck by a foolish pang of guilt. She was going to kill his father! Why did he care?

"I—"

"Save it," she snapped, managing to graze his chest with a particularly vicious strike. "You were both just products of a society that glorifies the unnecessary taking of life in war and promotes the use of violence as a solution by claiming that one's ability to kill other people determines his or her value."

Snotlout jabbed his hammer at her in frustration. "I wasn't trying to apologize," he growled. "Your people invaded Berk. We're just defending—"

It was all the girl apparently needed. With an evil grin, the girl wrapped her flail around the handle of Snotlout's hammer and disarmed him faster than he could shout, "Hey!"

The girl giggled, the chains of her flail clinking menacingly. "Okay, I kind of made that last part up on the fly. Not so tough without your hammer, though, are—Hey!"

Snotlout had managed to pull her own shield off her arm. Now it was his turn to laugh. "Not so tough without your shield ei–"

She swung her flail at him; he clumsily blocked. Before she could attack again, he slammed the shield in her face, dropped it, and ran for his hammer. She gave chase, but Snotlout managed to slow her down by chucking his helmet at her with deadly precision that surprised even himself, one of its pointy horns barely missing her face as she leaned left to dodge it. By the time she'd reached him, he had both hands wrapped around his hammer's handle, and her fate was sealed.

She was sent flying across the room, slamming into a wall with such force that the entire house shook and groaned before crumpling to the floor.

Snotlout sighed unevenly, and as the rush of battle slightly faded, his body reminded him that he himself was far from unscathed. He shivered heavily, for he was actually very cold. And nervous. And still losing blood. He needed to—

Like a draug rising from death to further haunt Snotlout, the girl clawed up the wall until she was back on her feet and pulled out a small knife from a hidden pocket.

"Seriously, how are you doing this?" Snotlout asked incredulously. "And why? Give up already!"

She shook her head, taking a step forward. "You killed Armiss," she rasped, though he got a strange feeling that she wasn't quite talking to him. "So I have to...I am...n-not a coward."

"Yeah, sure, I get it, but you don't have to fight anymore. Just surrender. Or die...whatever."

Another step. "I'm not just...jokes and pranks. I...I am a Viking."

"Didn't you just explain why Viking society is stupid?"

She wasn't really walking at this point, more like dragging her feet. Maybe she really was a draug. Snotlout shivered. Was it getting cold in here? _Of course it's cold, dumbass, there's a fucking snowstorm blowing outside_.

"I _care_ about my sisters. I do. Mother..doesn't know what she's talking about."

Snotlout tightened his grip on his hammer as best he could, using both hands to keep it steady. "Woman, I'm telling you, just give up."

Another step, and the knife slipped out of her hand as she collapsed.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she was muttering as Snotlout forced himself to approach her.

The girl looked up at him, tears reddening her blue eyes. "It's Hel, you know?" she said weakly. "All of this...it's fucked."

Snotlout nodded, feeling a bit dizzy doing so. "Yeah," he agreed, "it's yakshit."

"But no one listened. They just thought I didn't care, that I was—"

"A joke."

She nodded. Snotlout looked away, unsure of what to do next. All he wanted was to find a warm corner to fall asleep in.

"Do it," she whispered. Was it a plea for an honorable death? Or perhaps it was just because she was in pain, and wanted it to just end quickly.

Snotlout raised his hammer high above his head, even though his arms and legs were both wobbling, and he felt cold, and he was tired. "Just...can you stop crying?"

"Please," she sobbed.

"You're really making this hard on me." And now he was really, really, _really_ cold and tired.

" _Please_."

So he dropped his hammer, turned away from the girl, took a step towards the door...

And keeled over, slamming face-first into the floor.

 **XXXXX**

In the beginning, there was only darkness.

"Hey, Snotlout," a voice in the darkness said.

"Hey, Tuff," Snotlout replied.

And then, a light.

"Over here, Snotlout"

"I see you."

It started as a single point in the darkness, but gradually, it grew, and it grew, and it grew until Snotlout could only see light, and it was _warm_. He smiled. He always knew he'd find his way to Valhalla. _Suck it, Dad_.

"And you're sure this will work," the voice said suddenly, not at all sounding like Tuffnut.

Snotlout was confused. "What?"

"I don't know," it continued, sounding even stranger. "But Gothi said it will, so...might as well try."

"Tuff, wha—"

And then the light vanished.

 **XXXXX**

" _She nearly killed him."_

" _She's still our one prisoner. We need her alive."_

 _"If only that freak blizzard didn't get in our way."_

 _"It happened. They got away. Besides, their numbers have still been decimated. We can deal with them later."_

 _"If Ruffnut—"_

 _"She's already been through a lot._ Don't _pin this on her."_

 _"You weren't there, Hi– Chief. They were animals. They—he's waking."_

Snotlout's eyes slowly opened, only to find his cousin's oversized head hovering over him, looking quite concerned.

"Hey, cuz," Hiccup said, smiling softly. "How're you feeling?"

Snotlout took in his surroundings. He was home, in his own bed. He tilted his head downwards, peaking over the layers and layers of blankets he'd been trapped under. There was Gothi, slowly stirring a pot set over a fire as she threw some leaves or something into it. And there was his dad, standing at a corner of the bed and staring at him. He somehow seemed both relieved and disappointed

Just like Snotlout himself.

"Cold," he said bitterly.

* * *

 **A/N:** "Hehehe, cucked again, Snotlout!" - Hiccup in Snotlout's eyes. Steals the glory, steals the girl, and now he won't even let Snotlout go to Valhalla...

There were probably at least half a dozen radically different ways this second half of the story was written, some of which I saved for later use/reference. Didn't want something too happy, nor did I want it to be super grim, so...whatever the hell this is supposed to be was the result. Just Snotlout sort of drifting aimlessly through a cold, cold world, trying to find warmth and ultimately failing in a way that somehow involves Hiccup. Poor Snotlout.

Do keep in mind that unless explicitly stated, I don't intend for these one-shots are not going to be canon with one another, specifically when it comes to the deaths of major characters like Tuffnut. I'll _try_ not to have my stories constantly stepping all over each other's toes, but if I feel like writing a story about forty-year-old Tuffnut beating people up with a rusty mace, I'm not going to care that he died in this story. Worldbuilding elements like "edgy mercenary Bog Burglars", however, will remain consistent.

A _draug_ is pretty much a Norse zombie. Spooky stuff.

And yes, "Shieldmaiden Hofferson", because I think it's hilarious for some reason. Maybe later I'll write a chapter just focused on the history of that name.


	4. The Greatest Battle of All Time

_**The Greatest Battle of All Time**_

 _Premise: It's in the title. RTTE S4_.

* * *

Dawn was the beginning of Viggo Grimborn's end.

The leader of the Dragon Hunter hurried out of his tent, only to find his island already lost. And there was the young Hiccup Haddock, Master of Dragons, a mere hundred yards or so in the distance with his trusty Night Fury, Toothless, just at his side, slowly approaching inevitable victory. His eyes were not on Viggo or the other doomed men but on the jewel in Viggo's hands: the Dragon Eye. He drew his special sword, the aptly-named Inferno, and ignited it, lifting it high above his head.

"Inferno!" Viggo cried. He knew of its true power. "Somebody get that sword!"

His men made a mad dash for the boy, only to be intercepted and beaten down by dragons and Vikings that rained from the sky to defend their champion. To Hiccup's left, two Nadders melted a dozen dragon hunters with streams of fire. To his right, Stoick the Vast and his men smashed and cut through their attackers as if they were culling weeds; a simple back-handed slap from Stoick himself literally dashed the brains out of one unfortunate hunter's skull. Two particularly foolish hunters attempted to charge Hiccup directly from the front, only to both lose their heads: one to a sprinting whirlwind of Berserker death that was Heather the Unhinged and the other to Toothless's razor-sharp teeth.

Across the island, the many starved, beaten dragons that the Hunters had captured felt Inferno's warmth and power. Easily breaking free of their supposedly dragon-proof chains, they rose up violently against their oppressors, joining Hiccup's forces in razing the enemy's means of defense with an almost mindless ferocity.

"Viggo Grimborn!" Despite the helmet masking his face, despite the distance, Hiccup's voice somehow boomed over the chaos of battle, each word striking bright fear deep into Viggo's black heart. "Chief of the Dragon-Hunting Marauders, Bane and Slaver of the Innocent, Faithless Enemy of the Gods and Nature Itself, harken to me!"

Every step forward Hiccup took made Viggo yield double the distance.

"Surrender!" Hiccup commanded. "And tell your men to lay down their arms as well, so that you may all be spared! Cooperate, and I may let you live."

The masked boy was honest, but Viggo's mind had been seeped in unnatural poisons of paranoia and suspicion for too long. And Viggo still had one, last cowardly trick to pull. "No!" he croaked, his voice suddenly low and primal, something not entirely human.

"So be it!" The boy brought down Inferno, and Viggo raised the Dragon Eye to block the blow. There was a sudden, blinding flash of light where metal met metal.

Dawn gave way to renewed darkness as the sky turned black with storm clouds as Hiccup stirred. Viggo rose to his feet, and then his feet left the ground; the Dragon Eye hummed with power in his hands, both object and wielder radiating surrounded by an aura somehow even darker than the sky. A malevolent energy coursed through his veins, making them glow a sickly yellow.

"You were never in control here," he hissed. "All has gone according to plan. You were truly a worthy opponent, Hiccup, but now I have gained...UNLIMITED POWER!"

Viggo pointed the Dragon Eye at Hiccup, and from it sprang a torrent of lightning equal to that of ten thousand Skrills. It was only the strength of Hiccup's will and the power of Inferno that shielded him and his friends from annihilation.

But it wouldn't hold for much longer. "Flee, you fools!" he cried to his friends. "Don't let my sacrifice be in vain!"

But his pleas fell on those already crippled by Viggo's unholy power, their senses overwhelmed and feet frozen in awe and terror.

"You forget the cardinal rule of Maces and Talons, Hiccup," Viggo shouted with such intensity that the whole island shook with each syllable. "Only us two chieftains are of value. All other pieces...are expendable."

"No," Hiccup muttered, but his strength was still failing. He was, in the end, just a man, and Viggo had become something more.

 _You are not alone, Hiccup_. The words were not spoken; they burned themselves directly into both Hiccup and Viggo's mind.

 _Toothless?_

 _Impossible!_

A soft blue glow emanated from the dragon, and Hiccup felt the intensity of Inferno's flame rise tenfold. Time itself slowed for all but the only three beings that truly mattered in this game.

 _Not merely possible, but necessary_ , Toothless roared. _For I am the last of the Night Furies. I am son of Lightning and Death, Alpha and Omega. I am the One Who Was Chosen, champion of the righteous will of the gods, as I was in the thousand lives I have lived, as I shall be in the thousand I have yet to live until the coming of Ragnarok._

Toothless walked calmly past the protection of Inferno, through the lightning, as one would walk through a gentle breeze, and brought Viggo down with a single swipe, pinning him to the floor with one claw on his forehead and another on his chest. Viggo dropped the Dragon Eye, his hands seared by it as it dissolved before the Night Fury's cleansing light, the yellow glow in his veins slowly turning blue.

 _You merely adopted this darkness for your own vile use, soft human,_ Toothless declared triumphantly. _I was born in it. You are but a speck in time, soon to be a distant, foul memory. So I say to you..._

Toothless leaned even closer towards Viggo, until his snout was just barely touching his victim's left ear.

 _Vi-gone, foul thought._

 **XXXXX**

"Yeah, I see that this is going nowhere," Hiccup said sardonically, leaning over to gather the Maces and Talons pieces scattered over a crudely-drawn map of Viggo's island fortress on the table. He roughly plucked the two opposing chieftain pieces out of Tuffnut's grasp. "Thank you for your time,Tuffnut, but I have an actual battle to plan."

"But I haven't even gotten to Phase Two!" Tuffnut exclaimed. Though to be honest, he was slightly relieved, as he had yet to actually come up with anything for Phase Two that could match the epic absurdity of Phase One.

"I was going pretty easy on you, honestly." Hiccup began placing the pieces back to their original positions. "Riding with the sun to our back is a decent idea, but everything else is something the actual Viggo would easily shut down. As for the last part, well, it's clear that you just aren't taking this seriously."

Very true. "And how do you know?" Tuffnut asked anyways.

Hiccup placed down the last piece and crossed his arms. "Well, for starters, the Dragon Eye doesn't shoot lightning."

"In my defense, no one knows anything about how the Dragon Eye does anything."

For a moment, Hiccup looked ready to argue that point, but then his attention returned to the pieces on the table.

Score one for Tuffnut. "Exactly," he said triumphantly. "You can't just assume—"

"That's just it!" Hiccup interjected. "I don't want to assume, but I have to. Most of my information on the island is incomplete or outdated; I still don't understand what this Shellfire project they're working on really does; and I just feel like I'm racing against time, here."

Tuffnut couldn't resist. "It's good that you have a Night Fury," he said cheekily.

"Every day the Dragon Hunters are getting more powerful." He was frowning at the table. "More men, more ships, more weapons. Better ones, too."

"Yeah."

"But every time I fight them, try to slow them down, they're still getting stronger. Because Viggo learns a lot more while I'm out there flying than I do of him."

"Hm."

"They're getting better at fighting us every time we cross paths with them. That's why I'm planning a decisive strike on his base. One battle to end the war. A lot of it's in place, but I just...can't be certain, not with the scraps I'm working with. I need to know that he won't be able to see it coming, that I'll beat him for sure. Because there probably won't be a second chance if I go all-in like this. Because, well..."

Hiccup's eyes snapped back up, and for a moment he looked almost confused that he was staring at Tuffnut. "You know what I mean, uh, Tuff?" he asked. "How there won't be a second chance?"

Tuffnut shrugged. "Yeah, you're not sure if you can beat Viggo," he said. "You don't want us to die for it. Whatever. Just don't mess up, and we'll be fine."

Hiccup's frown only deepened. "Yes, I know..."

"Like, seriously, it's all on you. You're the only one who can beat him."

"D-do you think I don't know that?"

"I'm just saying. You saw my plan. It's not great, not even good. Like, I completely made up 'Vi-gone, foul thought'! You're the leader, dude. If you think that we need to do this, that's it. We'll fol–"

"I know!" Hiccup's left arm swept across the table, sending more than a few game pieces flying off the table.

For the first time in one...two...five months, Tuffnut genuinely did not know what to say. Not saying something because someone—usually Ruffnut or Astrid—would undoubtedly break his nose for it was nothing new, but actually being speechless...Well, Hiccup was always known for doing the impossible.

Hiccup gave a quiet sigh—the bad sort, Tuffnut knew—and plopped into a chair, defeated. "Can I beat him?" Tuffnut heard him mutter. "Gods, just...give me a clue on how..."

A shadow in the corner of the room suddenly shifted, slinking over to Hiccup's side to gently nuzzle Hiccup's hand. Hiccup patted Toothless's nose with equal softness, though his eyes remained on the Marauder Chieftain piece in his hand. It seemed absurd then, to Tuffnut, that someone like Hiccup could possibly be so upset, not when he had so much: the right to Berk's throne, an already legendary reputation across the archipelago. _A fucking Night Fury as your best friend_. Every boy on Berk probably wished he could be in Hiccup's shoes; every girl on Berk probably wished she could be in Hiccup's pants—even Ruffnut, as gross as that possibility was. He wouldn't ever wish that on Hiccup. Hel, he wouldn't wish that on Viggo.

Viggo? His army was a sausage party of mercenaries. He'd infiltrated Viggo's base before, heard what they said when Viggo wasn't nearby. No one seemed to like him _that_ much. Even Ryker.

There was something Tuffnut was missing, obviously. He always sort of knew that he wasn't exactly the brightest candle, aside from a few moments of pure, misunderstood brilliance.

"Hey, uh, Viggo—Hiccup, I mean Hiccup, my bad—"

Hiccup sighed again. "Sorry, Tuff," he said. "You too, bud." He tickled Toothless's chin, and the dragon gave a pleased snort before wandering back to his corner. "It just feels like I'm arguing the same..." He frowned again. "Actually, why are you here, Tuffnut?"

 _Fuck_. Tuffnut thought he was making some progress. _Okay, so I got up, took a piss, checked on Chicken, put some fish Ruffnut's face for Barf and Belch..._

"Did you talk with Astrid?"

Ah yes, he did, actually. He sparred with her this morning.

" _Don't tell him I told you this, but I'm a bit worried about Hiccup."_

" _Uh-huh."_

Then she slapped him around with wooden sticks for about half an hour, though they agreed to cut the session short after she broke her fourth stick. He rubbed the bruise blooming on the back of his left shoulder; it was the unusual viciousness of her blows that told him that she was upset. He initially believed she'd learned the devastating secret that Hiccup was, as Tuffnut had long suspected of both him and Gobber, actually into guys.

No, he wasn't going to risk Astrid hunting for him, too. "I'm just hiding from Ruffnut," he said instead. "I tried to get Barf and Belch to eat her face off, so...yeah."

"Okay, then let me ask you something," Hiccup said. "Do you honestly think I can beat him?"

Tuffnut wasn't a fan of being on the receiving end of these random twists in conversation. Or the pronoun game. "Your dad?"

Hiccup placed a hand on his forehead. "No, Viggo."

"Oh, then yeah, definitely. You've already beaten him a few times."

Hiccup seemed unsatisfied by the answer. "Enough to bet your life on it?"

"Enough to die for it," Tuffnut answered. "And I know every other person on this island feels the same."

It must've been the right thing to say, as Hiccup's expression finally softened. "Even Snotlout?"

He smiled. "Pretty sure I only said 'every other person'."

That got a chuckle out of Hiccup. Ah yes, another crisis averted by Berk's deadliest weapon.

But then Hiccup's face scrunched up again. _Damn it_.

Tuffnut looked at the table and the map. "Do you want to play another round?" he asked quickly. "I can be Viggo this time, and we can try your plan. But I'm just going to warn you, my Viggo has a second brother named Andy, who's like, an evil Astrid—"

Hiccup just shook his head. "Nah, I think I should a– I actually need to talk to Astrid about something." Hiccup sprang to his feet, waving Toothless to his side. He looked at Tuffnut with a small smile on his face. "Thanks for your time, Tuff."

It was something, at least. "No problem," Tuffnut said.

Tuffnut wasn't sure exactly what, if anything, he'd done to warrant Hiccup's thanks. It must've been something worth feeling at least a little good about, yet he also felt like he'd somehow failed. As he walked back to his hut, he fell deep into thought, making sure to pinch his chin for everyone to know that he was thinking. Deeply.

For as long as Hiccup knew the name "Viggo Grimborn", he'd always seemed a little more serious, a little more strict about things. That made sense, no matter how much he or Ruffnut or Snotlout complained about it; Hiccup was their leader, and Viggo was a scary, bad dude. But he never realized Hiccup was also like... _this_. Perhaps his self-doubt was like a disease, something that Viggo infected him from their first encounter. Or maybe it was something that had always been there, an old scar—a festering sore?—from his days as the troublesome Hiccup the Useless that Viggo had somehow re-opened. The more he pondered the issue, the more he realized that Hiccup's problem couldn't be solved in a simple, day-long adventure or an uplifting monologue. Much like the actual war itself, perhaps Hiccup's inner turmoil could only be resolved through Viggo's death...or Hiccup's.

Furthermo–

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Tuffnut spun around just in time to see his sister's angry, ugly face as she tackled him to the ground.

So continued the greatest battle of all time.

* * *

 **A/N** : Surprisingly, no hard drugs were involved when writing how Avatar Toothless defeated Darth Viggo. Also poked fun at RTTE—I have my fair share of criticisms for the show that I might prod some more in later stories. I'll let you guys figure out the specifics in this story.

Hiccup being stressed out and self-doubting against Viggo was actually first inspired by some Tumblr one-shots by e-wills (E. Wills on this site).


	5. Lightning and Death

_**Lightning and Death**_

 _Premise: In which Hiccup and Toothless must overcome incredible odds to rescue their friends, except Toothless is a motherfucking Night Fury, so it's actually not that hard. RTTE S4._

* * *

" _Hiccup's too bossy."_

" _Hiccup's a tyrant."_

" _Why does Princess Outpost hate fun?"_

"Because of shit like this, Snotlout," I answer. "Three days. I can't leave you alone for three fucking days." I hope that the wind will somehow carry my message down to whichever ship below he's being held on. Or maybe he's already in Hel, if I'm lucky.

Alright, that was way too harsh. He's still my cousin, maybe even my friend, and if he's dead, then that means the others are probably...

I take off my helmet to check for any defects—it's still too loose—before sliding it back over my head. I'll fix it after I fix this mess.

Which I still don't understand, actually. This wasn't the first time I'd left the others on the Edge. I'd left Astrid in charge, too. Astrid always keeps the others in line when I'm away. Or even when I'm not away. In fact, as much as I don't want to admit it, she keeps me in line too.

"So what the Hel happened?" Did Astrid just made an honest, extremely stupid mistake.

No, I'm not going to blame Astrid. This is definitely Snotlout's fault somehow. I'm sure of it. Or maybe they're all in on it. I've been pushing them too hard, so getting captured is some strange act of mutiny.

"Mutton-headed, half-troll, traitorous..."

Toothless glances up at me, a worried look in his eyes. I put up a smile, but he sees right through it and growls.

 _I'm ready to fight...but are you?_

I assume he's trying to make me feel better, so I lean forward in the saddle to pat his neck to let him know I'm alright.

Toothless doesn't seem convinced, but he knows that I'll sort myself out eventually. He turns his attention back to what's in front us, and lets out a piercing scream. I see a flicker of light in the darkness up ahead—someone quickly lighting a torch—only for it to wink out moments later. And there's another. And another.

I count one...two...three caravels in the distance; I can't tell how much damage they've taken, but knowing my luck, they're all still armed to the teeth. I pull out Astrid's note, only to remember that it's too dark to read it. What had it said? Five ships? I think it said five. Five dragons and six riders only managed to sink two of these ships before getting wiped.

That's why Toothless and I now have to take on three of them by ourselves. At night. Without sinking them. And Toothless just gave away the element of surprise, though not without reason. His ears twitch to a tune only he understands, hearing in far greater detail what I can barely see.

"Any of those ships metal?" I ask.

He warbles an affirmative.

"How many? One?"

He warbles again. _Yes._

"The one to the...left?"

 _No._

"Right?"

 _Yes._

I grimace. "Then that's where the dragons will be..." Which means we're going to have to put a dragon-sized hole in the one ship that's specifically built to be "dragon-proof". Is Toothless up to the challenge?

He gives a dismissive snort. _Too easy._ But another thought makes him flatten his ears. _They'll be waiting_ , he rumbles.

They're expecting us to dive straight at them now. Even if they've never fought a Night Fury before, they've probably heard enough stories and legends to get the basics down: how it gives away its position as its dive-bombing with a scream, how it can fly two or three faster than any dragon they've probably faced before, how it effortlessly blends into the night sky, how it spits out exploding balls of fire hot enough to turn a man into nothing more than wisps of smoke, and how those balls of fire never, _ever_ miss.

Still half a mile away from the ships, I ease back on the tailfin pedal as Toothless tilts hard to the left, and the weight of my body rapidly dissolves into a familiar, tingling emptiness. We plummet in near free fall towards the black expanse below.

One.

The roar of the air rushing past me is deafening. The empty pit in my stomach makes my head spin. I feel lost in the darkness, struggling to tell up from down, sky from sea. It shouldn't be like this. I should feel excited, untethered, invincible.

Well, I do still feel all those things. It's just, well...

Are we too late?

Two.

Really, are we too late? It's not a question I should be asking now, of all times, but I can't help it

It's the truth; I am a victim of my own imagination. My mind forces me to recall everything that had led up to this moment: Returning to a deserted Dragon's Edge. Astrid's note. Stormfly crashing next to my hut, bleeding, poisoned, barely clinging to consciousness. What happened? How did she even make it back? And if that was the shape Stormfly was in, then her rider...

That was probably four.

I push hard against the pedal, and Toothless's wings snap open. We manage to level out just barely above the reach of choppy waters, flattening the waves beneath us as we speed towards our target. The weight that had left my body roughly forces its way back into me, and it's just the punch to the gut that I need to knock the fear out of my system.

I feel it vibrate beneath me, hear it above the roar of wind and waves with unnatural clarity: the hiss of volatile gases, the long, drawn-out gasp of air. I know that right now, to the enemy, it sounds like a building, demonic wail, an otherworldly sound heralding the arrival of Ragnarök. I imagine each Hunters' courage crumbling as the wail grows higher and higher in pitch, unable to tell from which direction his end will come.

These Dragon Hunters may know the basics about _it_ , the Night Fury, but they don't know _him_. They don't know _us_.

For a moment, I even see it: a blue ball of lightning and death that streaks out of Toothless's mouth. And at last, I understand the enemy the way Toothless does.

 _Prey_.

I blink, and the plasma bolt's already struck its mark, blossoming into a cloud of fire and thunder that seems to almost capsize the ship. Toothless veers hard to the right, shielding me from the worst of the explosion as we zip by the ship's mast. I hear the "dragon-proof" metal groan in protest as it's ripped open by the blast, the angry shouts and screams of Dragon Hunters below, and I can't help but bare my teeth in a savage snarl.

Arrows, nets, and rocks go flying in all directions, but it's a futile effort; we're too fast, too nimble, too aware of our surroundings to be caught. Toothless takes the lead, his movements dictating my own, and we weave through the storm, eventually turning upward into a loop before twisting back upright and diving towards the same ship. Aiming at the deck this time, he fires another plasma bolt—it's not nearly as powerful as the first one, but it's still enough to vaporize a catapult and several Hunters and send the others ducking in cover.

I hear a familiar roar as we swoop past our prey, and I look back just in time to catch Hookfang, his massive body cloaked in bright flames, rip through the hole we made earlier in the "dragon-proof" hull. He claws his way up to the deck with equal ferocity before lunging at his captors. Two more dragons, Meatlug and Windshear, also make their way out, and judging by the faint echoes and screams coming from below, the battle has become a massacre.

Two ships left. One seems to have shifted its attention from us to the dragons that it can actually hit, desperately trying to keep Hookfang and the others at bay; the other has abandoned the fight altogether.

I point at the ship still fighting, but Toothless is already leaning into a dive; the resulting plasma blast incinerates a sizable piece of the deck itself. It's the distraction that the other dragons need to board the ship, and the Dragon Hunters begin throwing their weapons aside to raise their arms in surrender.

But to the dragons, it's a meaningless gesture.

I pull Toothless into a hover over the ship. Recognizing my intent, Toothless lets out a powerful roar, and the one-sided slaughter comes to an end, all eyes, both dragon and human, now turn to us.

"Enough!" I shout. Toothless supports my command with another roar, and most of the dragons slowly release the men they were about to rip apart, as if suddenly realizing what they had done.

Windshear hisses, its sharp tail hovering dangerously close to a potential victim, but Toothless silences his protests with yet another roar, almost as loud as the first one. Reluctantly, Windshear obeys.

I make a circular motion with a finger, and the dragons start rounding up the Dragon Hunters into a corner. There was still one more ship to take care of...

Toothless's ears perk up in surprise, and he gives an excited bark. _I hear someone._

I hop off Toothless, a strange new sort of excitement fluttering in my stomach, and he eagerly nudges me to the large hole we made in the deck earlier.

"Hiccup?"

"It's Hiccup!"

"Hey, Princess Outpost!"

It's too dark to see anything from up here, so logically, I leap into the abyss. The landing is rough, the caravel's hold being a bit deeper than I thought, but I quickly recover. I draw Inferno, and with a flick of the thumb switch, the blade ignites, washing away the darkness around me.

I look to my right, letting go of a breath I didn't realize I've been holding. Without hesitation, I cut the cage's chain lock with Inferno, and Toothless is suddenly at my side, helping me slide the heavy gate open.

They're all alive: Astrid, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Heather, and Snotlout. Eyes half-closed, bodies covered in cuts and bruises—Heather and Fishlegs have trouble even standing—but alive nonetheless.

Forget the third ship. We're going home.

Snotlout sweeps Heather off her feet, gritting his teeth at the effort, and hurries past me, only giving me a curt nod; there's a grin on his face, but the usual humor in his eyes is absent, likely because of the blood trickling down his left arm. Heather mutters something to me, but I don't catch it. She's dark bruises and dried blood, her eyes unusually unfocused.

"Thank you," Fishlegs says weakly, pale and shivering, leaning on both Ruff and Tuff for support. The twins repeat the sentiment in unison as they limp on by.

"How's Stormfly?"

Astrid lingers behind the others in the cage. Surprisingly, she's the least-injured of them all, untouched save for a blossoming bruise ringing her right eye.

"She'll be alright. What about you?"

She's staring in my direction—yet not quite at _me_ —with a near-inscrutable, angry expression, but it gradually softens into something that I understand perfectly.

"I'm fine," she lies.

 _No, I'm not,_ her eyes tell me, _because this is all my fault_. She walks up to me, still unable to truly meet my gaze, and just for a moment, her head dips to the ground. _I'm sorry._

"It's alright, Astrid," I say, placing a hand on her shoulder. It's not quite true, of course, but now isn't the time. "I'm just glad you're safe." I turn to the other riders. "All of you."

"Even me?" Snotlout asks sardonically.

I sigh. "Even you."

* * *

 **A/N:** It's been a very busy July, so sorry for the delay. I know y'all missed me.

...

...

Or not. Anyhow, writing this story, the biggest thing I've learned is that I'm not a first-person, present-tense guy. But I figured that I haven't really had a real "Hiccup/Toothless kick ass" story, so this is...a start, at least. We all know that if Toothless was as speedy in the TV shows as he is in the fight against the Red Death, the Dragon Hunters would be fuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked.

Oh, yeah, and uhhh...like, comment, and subscribe. All that good stuff. Just a reminder that if you have any good prompts you'd like to see me butcher, fire away.


	6. Fearless

**_Fearless_**

 _Premise:_ _"I pity the man who fears nothing, for that only means he has lost everything."_ _\- Oswald the Agreeable_

 _Set post-RTTE S2_

* * *

Snarls and hisses, snapping teeth. These are not the sounds of noble beasts. These are not the sounds of the misled, mistaken, misunderstood. Ragnarök has come tonight, and it has taken the form of dragons.

These are dragons, wild things, and they hunger for flesh and bone. They bay for death and slaughter. They thirst for the blood of the innocent.

The pack has gathered, the night is young. The hunt begins.

Three-dozen strong, they descend upon sleeping prey with a ferocity never before witnessed on this sleepy pile of volcanic ash and greenery, devouring everything that breathes in their path. Venomous tails lash out at the few victims that try to flee, paralyzing them, softening their bodies so that the younger dragons may better partake in the feast.

Deadly shadows in the night, they are guided not only by their own sharp senses but also by the scent of fear, for there is no aroma more savory to these beasts. They were all born with a craving for it, a proclivity for finding the weakest link in any chain and breaking it first. It is what makes them such excellent hunters, their ability to work together in singling out those most likely to be frightened: the young, the weak, the defenseless.

It is cruel. It is unjust. It is barbaric. But above all, it is natural. In the end, they're no different from any other predator.

One dragon stands above the rest; in strength and speed and cunning schemes, it is unmatched, the greatest, the best. The _alpha_. It is this alpha that leads the pack of ravenous monsters, hones its single-minded savagery into a poison-tipped point. Thus the hungry pack becomes an arrow flying true, an army marching onward to victory, razing all life in its path, staining the earth below with blood.

But it is not the alpha that first spots the campfire. No, it is the curious youngling, its mind and gaze untethered by a greater purpose beyond its own satisfaction and pleasure, that spots the sign that something more dangerous than any dragon lurks in the forest.

The alpha notices the youngling, notices the glow, and with a screeching roar, rallies the army towards the threat. One by one, they begin whispering among themselves with harsh clicks and clacks upon sighting small flame, nestled in a pit of sand and broken twigs, for they know what it means. It shows that they are not truly unopposed on this island, that they will likely be facing the most dangerous prey of all: humans.

Between dragons and humans, who is truly hunter or hunted, predator or prey? The answer usually boils down to: Who is more afraid?

And there it is, the human. It shifts ominously in the darkness—to the dragons, an abomination of strange proportions and long arms, monstrously long arms.

But...it's just the human. Just one.

His eyes snap open, and he slowly lifts himself on to his feet, staring blankly at the almost perfectly-hidden forces amassed against him. He grabs his weapon, a spear of wood, blood and tears, and a dragon tooth...

...and casts it into the pit of fire. The fire graciously accepts his offering, and it roars and glows, revealing dragons to man, man to dragons.

The man sees Speed Stingers, at least one, no, two dozen of them, slowly surrounding him, sizing him up, plotting and scheming. It is then that he wonders if he should regret discarding his weapon, but he can't really make up his mind.

The alpha approaches, locking eyes with the human—hairs the color of fire covering much of his face, pale skin marred by blotches of dark red and dull blue, shoulders hunched in fatigue, limbs wobbling with each pained, labored breath–but the human does not flinch. No, the human stares back, and behind those lifeless green eyes, the Alpha sees...

Enough. Enough to decide that it is time to leave.

The man turns his back on the dragons. Does he await his inevitable death, whenever it may come? Or is he satisfied in knowing that it won't come tonight? No one knows, not even him.

The alpha commands. The pack obeys. Inhuman eyes fade back into the darkness, their hunger sated. This human, the alpha has explained, is simply not worth the trouble.

When dawn arrives, only Dagur remains. The hunters have moved on to the next island, the hunted on to the next life. Why the gods have chosen him to rule this island of trees and carcasses, a grotesque portrait of both life and death, he does not know. So he does the only thing he can do: he thinks.

By the end of the day, he comes to the simple and accurate conclusion that the alpha had reasoned that he was no doubt a powerful human of unmatched savagery, that he had the confidence of a cunning beast who had already set a trap, that his meat was not worth the potential losses they would incur, that their bellies were already full.

He was fearless. They were not. That is why he lived.

Yet all the thinking in the world cannot make him forget the look the alpha had given him last night, the look that revealed a feeling that the alpha did not, could not explain to the others, for it is a concept too rare and foreign to their primal minds.

Pity. The alpha felt pity. For the man the alpha saw was once Chief of the Berserkers; now he is Chief of Nothing. He was once the Conqueror of All Islands; now he is the Enemy of All People. He once had the belief that he was touched by the gods; now, he realizes, he was always an outcast to life itself.

The alpha saw all that, looking into Dagur's fearless eyes. That was also why he lived.

Dagur recalled that someone he knew once upon a time had something to say about having nothing, but he could not even remember the words. Those, too, have been robbed from him, quite ironically, by what is considered the "present".

And so Dagur the Deranged cried, if only to remind himself that, at the very least, he still had his tears.

* * *

 **A/N:** Heeeeeeey guuuyyys, it's been a while. I've been busy on Tumblr for the past month, actually, cranking out shlock like the story above every three days or so for some HTTYD event thing. Just thought it'd be a fun challenge and a good time for me to just check out what that Tumblr place is all about. Two (well, three, but one's a two-parter) of the drabbles at least somewhat line up with the whole action/violence theme I've got going on here, so I thought I'd share them with y'all. This is the first one.

I've got one person's request I'm still working on—haven't forgotten about you. Kinda wanna move on and do some non-RTTE-related one-shots, though. And I also have this idea for a more ambitious...Oh, so much to do, so little time. I blame majoring in STEM.


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